


I Would Tap That

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-26
Updated: 2006-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had been a big fan of <span><a href="http://iphignia939.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://iphignia939.livejournal.com/"><b>iphignia939</b></a></span>'s crack!fic is <a href="http://iphignia939.livejournal.com/199446.html#cutid1">Just Like Virgina Woolf</a>, where Patrick is turned into a girl and that got me to thinking what it would be like if it was <i>Pete</i>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	I Would Tap That

**Author's Note:**

> I had been a big fan of [](http://iphignia939.livejournal.com/profile)[**iphignia939**](http://iphignia939.livejournal.com/) 's crack!fic is [Just Like Virgina Woolf](http://iphignia939.livejournal.com/199446.html#cutid1), where Patrick is turned into a girl and that got me to thinking what it would be like if it was _Pete_.

When Patrick opened his eyes and saw the slim dark-haired girl sitting stock-still at the edge of the bed Pete had claimed, he was a _little_ distressed, because, contrary to popular belief, Pete wasn't that big of a whore.

He was actually more concerned for two reasons:

1) The girl was dressed in Pete's boxers. Patrick hadn't heard a _thing_ last night and Pete was very vocal, so that...you know, it always got to Patrick too, but he would rather die than let Pete find that out.

2) The girl was dressed _only_ in Pete's boxers. And staring down at her own bare breasts as if they just appeared on her chest this morning.

"Hey. Where's Pete?" he asked gently, because yeah, this girl might or might not be totally crazy. Pete liked them crazy, apparently, and she really fit the part as she lifted her head slowly and stared at him.

"It's me," she replied, a low gravelly worried voice, at the same time that Patrick's brain screeched fully awake and bellowed _ohmygod OH MY GOD, don't you see it's PETE?_

So he sat up and gaped at Pete and Pete sat there and gaped at him. Finally Patrick cleared his throat.

"Dude."

"Yeah?"

"You might want to. Like. Put on a shirt, or something."

*

After all the yelling (mostly Joe) and weeping (mostly Pete) and inspection (mostly Andy, surprisingly) was over, they sat there staring at Pete and just checking him out.

"Ok, _stop_ ," Pete finally gave out, and ran a fine-wristed hand through his hair, which had lengthened overnight and was brushing his jaw in thick waves. "Just cut that shit out."

Yeah, but how? Cause as a girl ( _woman_ , Patrick amended) Pete was what Joe might call _fine_. Just sweet and petite fine, and with a nice bouncy chest that he preferred on all girls ( _women_ ). If he was _that_ into girls ( _women_...oh, stop.)

"You know," Joe murmured to Patrick, "I would tap that."

"Oh come ON...as if I'd LET you," Pete laughed scornfully, his eyes flashing, and Patrick noticed that his lashes were a little shorter but just as thick. _How do_ you _know they're shorter?_ A part of him derided. _Did you, like,_ measure _them or something?_

 _Actually, yes. Yes I did._

"We're in France.....this is _Europe_. Someone here _must_ know whats the deal," Andy said helpfully, and everyone thought for a moment.

"Ok, a _gypsy_ would," Pete said too quickly, and Patrick was highly suspicious. Pete had done something. To a gypsy. He said so out loud.

"So?" Pete snapped, looking very gypsy-like himself, all tanned smooth limbs (no tattoos?!) and large hazel eyes. "I didn't _want_ her at that party last night. I _told_ her so. She didn't have to fuck me over like this."

"So. Thats it, then. We gotta go find her and get her to take this off you," Andy said decisively. "We have a tour to do. I mean, you look like Pete, yeah, only in pretty-girl mode, and I'm not quite sure how everyone's gonna take it. I'm cool with it, dude, but not everybody is as awesome as I am."

At least, Patrick noted, _that_ got Pete to smile.

*

So the gypsy hunt wasn't going too well.

First of all, none of Pete's jeans could fit him anymore. He was, you know, just about the same _size_ and so forth, but his hips had flared out, and he had an _ass_. Turned out he happened to be fairly delighted with that ass, craning his neck around and checking himself out in the mirror of the changing room.

"Ok, wow. I'm pretty hot," Pete noted, trying on a short skirt over his boxers and then pulling down the boxers to get a better fit (because Pete was an opportunist and he had _such_ a good reason for trying on a skirt now), and Patrick, stuffed into the small room with him, rolled his eyes and tried not to stare at his legs.

"You were always hot, man. And _why_ is it that I have to be in here with you picking out new clothes?"

Pete turned to him.

"You thought I was always hot? Really?"

Andy pounded on the door.

"Look, try these and get the fuck out of there," he bellowed, throwing a few bra's over the top of the door. Pete peeled off his t-shirt with a total lack of self-conciousness and then turned to Patrick, who had gone red to the hairline under his hat.

"Ok, 'Rickster, you gotta help...what? What's the matter with you?" Pete glanced down at his chest, and then grabbed onto one. "What....these? I'm not a breast-man, but they are pretty sweet, right?"

"Right," Patrick agreed faintly, thinking it was just _typical_ of Pete to really see the brighter side of being changed into a female while _he_ was struggling to decide which Pete he found more attractive. Which was sort of moot-point because whichever Pete it was, it was _still_ Pete. And now he was just confusing himself even more. "Just-just give me one of those. Raise your arms?"

Pete gave him a smirk, then obeyed, and after much cursing and struggling, they managed to find one that fit okay. It was lacy and pink-purple, and Pete was admiring how it gave him a cleavage.

Just. _Typical_.

Second of all, (after much struggling through Pete's high-school French) the people in club that he had been in last night weren't too sure where the gypsy performers had gone off to. Some said off to a nearby bar, and another person said that they distinctly remembered them mentioning something about a popular park in the deep countryside. After checking out the deserted bar, it was obvious that they were going to have to make a little trip into the country.

"Cancel a few dates," Joe said as they stood under the awning, and everyone but Pete agreed. They were getting strange long stares, because what were three of the Fall Out Boy band-members doing standing around with Pete's sister? More like Pete's sexier twin, and who knew he had one?

"No way, nuh-uh," Pete negated, pulling at the t-shirt he had borrowed from Patrick, and hooking his hands into the belt-loops of his curvy new jeans. "Just get a replacement bassist for the meantime. It'll be fine."

Patrick instantly shot that one down.

"I'm not performing with any other bassist but you," he declared, and then flushed as they all focused on him. "I mean. We've been through that before. It was the worst thing ever, man. I would rather not go through that again, ok?"

"Ok," Pete replied softly, and gave Patrick an inscrutable look. Patrick went even redder.

"So. Road trip?!" Joe said, and they were all grinning, because this actually was just...just nice. Just a teensy break from the hotels and the cameras and the heat of the spotlight. Just a little side-trip to get Pete back to dude-ness. Weird.

*

Patrick expected that Pete was going to be more moody and withdrawn, but he was more or less on a 'normal' and 'good' streak, which meant he was still teasing and loud and draped all over Patrick in the backseat of the small car they managed to get the tour-manager to rent. There had been a large expression of outrage when they cancelled two of the shows, blaming a serious infection that Pete contracted. Pete had something, alright. An attack of oestrogen.

He was also making Patrick highly unsteady by holding his hand far too much, and Patrick considered it completely the last straw when Pete whispered to him, "Do you prefer me this way, or the other way?"

Patrick looked at him with astonishment, but Pete's face was completely serious. And slightly apprehensive.

"I prefer you as _Pete_ ," he hissed back, and Pete's face was gratified.

When they rolled up into the park about four hours later, at the setting of the sun, there was a fair going on in full-swing, with bright lights and delicious sweet smells. Andy was eyeing a large stuffed giraffe being carried by about six small children when Pete pointed out a fortune-teller's tent and stomped over to it. Patrick, the last to duck in, only managed to pull open the flap and step into the dimly-lit space when he realised that Pete was trying to throttle a curly-haired girl, while an old man in a brightly-striped jacket was standing on an a stool and beating Pete over the head with a soft cushion while Andy and Joe were both trying to drag Pete away. Patrick tried hard not to go into hysterical giggles.

"You take it OFF!" Pete was yelling as they managed to drag him away to the other side of the tent. "You take it off RIGHT NOW!"

"I WON'T!" The girl yelled back and the old man hopped nimbly off the stool, grabbed the girl by the arm and proceeded to have a rapid-fire conversation in their native tongue. The girl started to look sheepish as the old gypsy appeared more furious, until he just looked at her dumbfounded, and then turned to them.

"I'm so sorry," he said hesitantly, his accent heavy. "I've told my granddaughter not to do this before, but she doesn't _listen_."

"Just tell me how to get it off," Pete grounded out. "This has gone far enough. I've been a girl for only a day, and I don't think I can stand the sitting-down-to-pee thing for much longer. I keep forgetting."

The man turned back to the girl and asked her, and she replied without looking up at their faces.

"Oh." The old gypsy turned to Pete. "Well.....someone has to... _deflower_ you."

"Huh?" Patrick and Andy said.

"I'm a _virgin_?!!" Pete screeched and pulled at his hair.

"Oooh, ooh, can _I_?" Joe volunteered, and Andy gave him a sharp elbow to the side. "What? That's what friends are for, right?"

*

 _Now_ Pete was moody.

He flung himself on the bed when they finally returned to the hotel, and moved away when Patrick tried to touch him. Andy said it was just his ego that was more bruised than anything, so....maybe they should just try to get some sleep. It might be better in the morning.  
Patrick fretted that for once, Andy might be wrong.

He thought he would never sleep, so he was a little bemused to find himself being jostled awake as Pete crawled under his sheets with him and hugged him. It was one of those half-naked hugs. You know.

"Whazzat?" Patrick questioned in sleepy confusion and then Pete kissed him.

"It has to be you," Pete clarified softly as he pulled away and started to unbutton Patrick's pyjamas. "Ok? Nobody else."

Patrick drew back, suddenly all the way awake, and then felt sorry at Pete's large eyes in the gloom. He reached out and brushed Pete's bangs from his face.

"I don't know, Pete. I've never done that.. _deflowering_ thing before."

"Oh, and I have? Ok, I _have_ , but not like this. I don't want to spend anymore time this way. I mean, it's cool, but its not _me_. "

"You're my best friend. I can't believe you're asking me to do this," Patrick hissed desperately and Pete frowned at him.

"You're _my_ best friend. I can't believe you're saying no," Pete replied as he began to roll away, and Patrick grabbed at his elbow.

"I didn't say no. I just-okay, it's just-"

"Spit it out, man," Pete said stonily, and Patrick sighed.

"I'll _do_ it, dude, for _you_. But this is not the way I thought this would happen."

What he just _said_ rang through his own ears as Pete stared at him.

"You...ok, what?"

Patrick felt himself blushing for maybe the twenty-seventh time for the whole fucking day. He simply held Pete's gaze and watched as a devilish smile curled around those lips.

"This is momentous," Pete said cockily and Patrick was almost relieved to see that expression back on his face. Almost. "You want me...like, in _every_ form. Awesome. I'm flattered."

"Ok, fine. We got that out the way....let's do this, then," Patrick replied, going through the rest of his buttons and then stopping to blink at Pete. "But why me?"

"Like I said," Pete replied as he straddled Patrick. "It just has to be you. No-one else."

They just stayed that way for a few moments, staring at each other until Pete folded himself down and kissed him again. Patrick ran his hands up his sides and smiled into the kiss as Pete shivered restlessly. He licked Pete's lower lip and then bit it softly, and Pete moaned, pressing down on his growing hardness. Patrick sighed in deep need, and then arched up and over until Pete was on his back, and he was on top, grinding leisurely into him.

Pete moaned even louder, feeling Patrick's hands at the waistband of his boxers. He grabbed at the little packet he had stuck there before he lost track of it. Patrick smiled again into the kiss (this pretty fucking awesome kiss, please note) as he felt the condom being slipped into his hand. Pete was surprised and more than a little pleased at the sensation of Patrick's fingers trickling along all over his face, in his hair, and along his hips and legs as he took off Pete's boxers. He felt Patrick's tongue sliding along his neck and collarbone and then shuddered as Patrick lifted his arm and licked the inside of his elbow. So who knew your fucking elbow-joint had so much nerve-endings?

"Whoa," Pete struggled out, his eyes half-lidded. "You're pretty good at this. Can we....can we do this...again? Like after?"

"After?" Patrick mumured into his ear, and Pete jumped as he felt Patrick's finger slip slowly inside him and causing him to whimper. It was pretty slick down there already. Wow. "You mean, when you're back to normal?"

"Yeah. Normal," was all Pete could get out as Patrick traced his earlobe with is tongue. For real, how was he so _good_ at this?

"Sure," Patrick promised, moving leisurely to the other ear and nipping the soft curve of it. "I would really want that."

Patrick was actually just fucking _nervous_. He was trying to hold off the inevitable for the longest time possible, so maybe he was spending too much time on the whole foreplay bit. Or...maybe not, now that he was taking in the way Pete was wriggling and looking at him from beneath those thick lashes. Pete actually helped to roll the condom on (there was a part of him that stood aside clinically and then stamped its approval when they were sure it was on right). With a great presence of mind, Patrick slipped his pajama bottoms under Pete's hips. This could get messy.

He slipped slowly in, and then tensed as he felt the resistance. Pete was breathing in slow deep measures, and Patrick rested his lips on his jaw, pushing in even more and listening to Pete inhale even faster, and feeling Pete expand around him. Pete gasped and cried out as he felt something give painfully inside of him and he wished just the _worst_ of all calamities on that fucking gypsy bitch.

Patrick was very still. And all the way in. And now the pain was ebbing away and it felt...it felt pretty okay..

"Patrick?" Pete exhaled. "Ok, you can move now, Patrick."

Patrick obeyed and started off slowly, his hands feeling every inch that he could reach on Pete's skin, pinching here and stroking there. Pete's own fingers were walking along the valley of his spine, and tangling through his hair and he couldn't keep his mouth from biting and sucking at the pale skin on Patrick's neck and shoulders.

"Oh, God," he moaned, his head falling back to the pillow, and Patrick gripped one of his hands, weaving their fingers together, and sqeezed. "Oh, just go _faster_." He pulled his legs up, ignoring a mutter of pain that was still there and gripped Patrick with his thighs, rocking up everytime Patrick thrust in. One of the hottest things about this whole thing, in his humble opinion, was that Patrick had tucked his head into the crook of his neck, and his hot breath on the sensitive skin was driving Pete stark-raving mad.

"I don't know how much longer I can hold out," Patrick warned in a low tone and Pete arched against him.

"Ok...just....ok, it's ok," he stammered out. Patrick gritted his teeth, and tried to think unsexy thoughts.

 _The food-poisoning they had gotten back in Miami._

Pete gripping his ass now.

 _That awful brawl in England._

Pete was gasping so shallow and so quickly.

 _That weird dude that had been stalking Andy in Philly._

Pete's entire body was going into some sort of quake.

Pete was moaning so loudly, even when Patrick tried to muffle it with a kiss, and all it took for Patrick to just slip right over the edge was the feel of Pete's tongue sliding across his in desperation. Patrick pressed into him so deep and shuddered himself, his fingers burning marks right into Pete's hipbone, and he actually saw a dark haze melt across his vision as he collapsed against Pete, listening to him whisper, "Oh my god... _oh my god_ "; Patrick rolled off, making sure the condom came with him and when he tied it up and tossed it over the edge of the bed, Pete turned away from him and curled up into a ball.

Patrick was instantly worried.

"What? What's the matter?" He aked, gripping Pete on the shoulder. Pete shuddered.

"Don't touch me yet. Give me a minute," Pete whispered, and Patrick pulled his hand back, hovering a little over Pete's skin and then pulling away completely. He rested on his back, covering them both with the sheets.

A long while after, when he was almost asleep again, he felt Pete roll slowly back to him and tuck comfortably into his side.

*

"So. How was it?" Andy asked at breakfast in the large restaurant at the ground floor of the hotel, and Pete had the good grace to blush. Patrick was looking studiously away, and Pete wriggled in his chair, discomfited by Andy's steady gaze and the slight throbbing pain that still hummed at him from between his legs. Amazing, right?

"Well...you can see...it got the job done," he replied lamely, and watched as Patrick's mouth twitched a little.

"I can't believe you made _Patrick_ and not _me_ do it," Joe stated incredulously and dodged Andy's elbow. He was getting quick.

"Yeah, well," Pete answered in non-sequitur, happily slurping on his cereal. He tried to meet Patrick's eyes, but he was staring away at the large television playing french cartoons. Andy got up to get more soymilk, and Joe followed him, trying to convince Andy as to why _he_ would have been the better choice. Pete put the bowl to his head, draining the last of his milk, marvelling at the return of his precious tattoos on his arms.

"And Patrick can do it again if he wants," he said in a low voice, setting his bowl aside, and Patrick finally looked into his face, eyebrows raised. "You know. To see the difference."

Patrick leaned forward, smiling shyly, and Pete felt their fingers touch underneath the table.

"I already told you last night, Pete," he replied, and Pete shivered as their skin rasped together. _Last night_. "I would _really_ want that."


End file.
